cannot stop thinking about an AU where Bucky gets the same treatment as Steve (ie. serumed and vitarayed.)
So he shoots up to 6' 8" or something ridiculous and is built like a brick shithouse. To everyone else he's almost Too Big, but to Steve it's just like being small again while Bucky is ...Large, and Steve is permanently flustered about it. 😳🥺
I cannot--can fucking not--for the life of me stop thinking about this 😫 So, I hope you don't mind me cutting in with thoughts of sparring-turned-fucking 😏😏
If there weren't thick--fuckin' huge--thighs clenched around his blushing face, squeezing until the pressure gets so much Steve's crazily half convinced his head will burst open like a watermelon crushed between his muscular legs, if his heart wasn't thundering in his madly heaving chest, rising and falling so fast it's got his muscles on the delicious edge of cramping, painful but not, good, it's good, if his hot, fever-thick blood wasn't pulsing through his burning, ringing ears so loudly, if all that salacious lust wasn't distracting him so entirely thoroughly, getting him stupid, then, and only then, Steve's pretty sure he'd be able to hear his own body sizzling like an egg in a pan. Hotter than the sidewalks in the height of Brooklyn summer.
Steve's fuckin' frying, crisp and crackling, in his own sweat--swimming in a shallow pool of his own sweat where it's collected against the matted floors of the gym. It's goddamn cooking him. All this exerted sweat down his back, beneath his ass, and even wetting his legs. He can't squirm all that much with the heavy weight of his lover on top of him--he's too fucking big and broad and heavy, flattening him easily to the floor like no one else can--but Steve can squirm just enough to know how fucking wet he is. Slipping, nearly sliding. Sweating. Melting.
Melting.
A desperate, hoarse moan tries to squeeze out of Steve's throat, but it can't. The noise can't get out with his throat so fuckin' filled up, so it just rattles around in his rapidly expanding and contracting chest. He's fighting to breathe already, and the moans wanting to come barreling out of him push his burning lungs that much farther, building more pressure. He's gonna break.
He's gonna fucking break.
But he wants it.
With as much strength as he can muster after having it all bled from him, sparring with Bucky--their strength from the serum mostly on par, except for the part where Bucky was bigger than him before so of course he's bigger than him after too, shot up to 6'8" and too muscular and meaty for Steve not to go cross-eyed just looking at him, the fucking brick shit house that he is now--Steve pushes his chin up the little bit he can, sliding more in his sizzling puddle of sweat, and taking just a few millimeters more of Bucky's thick, engorged cock where it's shoved hotly between his lips and down his throat. Steve swallows and swallows and groans with his entire heaving chest, working him deeper into his throat. Just a little. Just enough. He's so fucking greedy. He's squished and flattened, and he still wants more. His most coherent excuse is that it's Bucky, of course, he can't help himself. It's Bucky.
And, Jesus, his nose is smashed up against his huge fucking body, and it makes it even harder to breathe, trapping more of his moans and needy, animal whimpers inside his body, but he doesn't care.
He doesn't care that he's being fucking strangled and choked and perversely overpowered on the communal gym floor. He just wants it. He wants and needs this--Bucky's cock hammered deep into his throat and his thighs squeezing any intelligence right out of his head, all of his weight sitting on top of him, holding him down easily, leisurely, as if it's nothing. It's everything for Steve. Yes. Yes! Please! If he could breathe, he'd be moaning for it; if he could talk, he'd be screaming for it.
With his mouth and throat getting so thoroughly used for everything but talking, the best Steve can do is grasp weakly at Bucky's legs, curled up on either side of his face. His hands are trembling, and the breadth of his fingers and palm aren't big enough to get all of him in his hold. He scrambles to get a grip, groping around and shaking harder. His fuckin' thighs. Jesus wept. This is how Steve wants to go. Suffocated by thick, firm thighs, choking on cock, dying, just, dying, impossibly frantic in his need to get Bucky off while Bucky doesn't seem to care one way or the other.
He's frantic and feverish and Bucky is relaxed as he could be, sliding his rock-hard cock in and out of his lips at whatever pace he sees fit, just enjoying the heat of his burning body and the vibrating, cut-off moans that echo through him and the slick, tight velvet of his mouth and throat.
Tiny.
Steve's head spins faster and faster, dimly thinking of the picture they make--if anyone were to walk in and see them like this. Steve normally imposing, now crushed and flattened underneath his tank of a boyfriend, hardly surviving it in the best way. Steve's cock straining his sweatpants, untouched and pathetic, whereas Bucky's cock is shoved deep and kept safe inside Steve's throat. Bucky's got his sweats and jockstrap shoved down, exposing his heavy balls and cock, unashamed, hairy and virile. His tanktop is shoved up, too, displaying his robust, thick middle, his abs not so sharply defined but juicy. Steve shaking and losing it, jerking where he can beneath Bucky's weight but Bucky's easy rhythm fucking his hips slowly forward and dragging them back smoothly. Bucky's hands don't twitch or quiver or shake as they card through Steve's chick-yellow hair, messing it up on purpose, even more purposefully showing Steve how fucking small he is.
His hands are so big, cradling his head and overwhelming him. His hands. But his arms, too. His arms are even fucking bigger than his hands and--guh.
Steve can't think.
Bucky is fuckin' fucking his throat, holding his head exactly where he wants it so he can stare down at Steve, smirking, all cocky and shit, and take in his glassy blue eyes, rimmed red, the tears just fucked right outta him helplessly.
Jesus Christ.
Steve's gasping, he's crying, too, just by sheer force of the thick, hot intrusion of Bucky's cock into his throat, stretching him open, raw, making his eyes water. His chest is heaving harder and harder now. Fuck. His back is stuck to the sweaty mats underneath him, and despite the weight in top of him, when he involuntarily squirms more, he literally slips and slides in his own sweat. He can feel the rivers of it running down his back, dripping onto the floor, pooling in the dimples at the back of his arched spine, and slipping between the curves of his backside.
"Fuck yeah," somewhere overtop of him, Bucky's pleased voice rattles in his huge fucking chest.
Steve rattles, too, shivering hard. He can barely focus on the sound of his voice. There's just so much fucking going on. The electric charge of pleasure like static through every vein and artery in his body, electrocuting him.
"Take it, jus' take it," Bucky rumbles, all Brooklyn as he uses that fuckin' charm to encourage torture him, "yeahh, that's it dollface. Aw, look at that," Bucky combs his hair back with his mitts, tugging until Steve's neck twinges from the stretch of the angle, arched so intensely, "you cryin'? You cryin', honey?"
Steve can't help but sob, chest shuddering, almost shattering.
And Bucky is just a shark smelling blood, immediately tearing into his teasing rampage, "it too much for you?" He asks but doesn't give Steve time to answer. "I wouldn't've ever thought that with your cocksuckin' lips," he reaches out, brazenly tracing Steve's glossy, swollen, red lips where they're stretched achingly around his fat cock. He clicks his tongue,"tsk tsk. 'M I stretchin' you out too wide?"
Steve's best answer is to try and suck harder, use more of his tongue, and hum a little--make it good--but that doesn't really work when he's so fucking perfectly powerless, shoved down with his cock shoved hard into him. Being used. He can't do much but be a good, tight, hot hole for his lover by lying there and letting him do whatever he wants, eyes rolling back into his head from how rough he gets with his body.
"Your poor little throat! Oh no, baby," he coos yet grins like a wolf with the knowledge of what a fuckin' tease he's being. "I bet a lil floozy like you never thought you'd meet a cock you couldn't take--"
Steve's dying. The way he talks down to him. Fuuuuck.
"--Never thought you'd get one that splits you open until you're shakin' and thinkin' you're gonna break in half." Bucky chuckles, low and dangerous, leaning in to cut through him, "yeah, yeah," he agrees with himself, reaching back just to slap Steve's flank like he's a pony, "who's your daddy?"
Instinctively, Steve's whole body convulse, knowing its place, his back bowing into a painful arch, his head falling back, his eyes rolling, and just--
Jesus fuck.
He's gonna cum.
